


Burning Lamp

by Clever_friend



Category: The Omen (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clever_friend/pseuds/Clever_friend
Summary: Peter is sure if he kills the Nazarene Damien Thorn will be able to rise again.





	Burning Lamp

**Author's Note:**

> Translated into English by [Kana_Go](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kana_Go)

Peter had been in Hell for a week. At least, he hoped so. It was dark and the pain didn’t dull, and when he tried to find Damien he couldn’t. It meant that Damien had survived and he, Peter, had died. He’d served as a human shield for his master. What could be better? 

Then Peter woke up in a hospital, and it turned out he’d been delirious. He hadn’t gone to Hell. Two days later, when he started to get better a policeman walked into the hospital room. It was how Peter found out that American ambassador Damien Thorn had attempted to kill him and then escaped. 

“I was injured by my mother,” Peter said. “She tried to kill both him and me. You won’t find his fingerprints on the dagger. Damien might be still alive, search the church. I can show it on the map.” 

The next day, he got the news that the dead body of Damien Thorn, the American ambassador, had been found in the destroyed cathedral. There had been Kate Reynolds’s fingerprints on the dagger. Of course, she had been arrested. But it didn’t matter anymore. Damien was truly dead. Peter was hoping, right up until the last minute, that this was a game, that Damien would suddenly rise again. The dagger was only one of the Seven after all. He was hoping ‘til he saw a copy of The Sun. There were pictures. 

_There were pictures. _

Apparently, the Antichrist’s body wasn’t imperishable. In the past week it had started to decompose. Rats had gnawed on it. Its fingers were stripped to the bone. Its face was nibbled by little teeth and in some places bone could be seen under shreds of skin and muscle, too. In some pictures one could actually see maggots that had already appeared in its flesh. He was absolutely unrecognizable. At first, Peter even thought that it was a fake, that Damien had certainly escaped while his henchmen had caught someone, killed him in the cathedral and left him to rot. A passport in the name of Thorn had been found on the body, but slipping a passport into a pocket was a cakewalk. 

Peter understood there was no hope when the papers said about DNA testing. They had run his DNA. 

Those DNA results were on the front pages for another month. A jackal’s DNA. It was when first came out the news of who Damien really was. 

Fortunately, the Antichrist or not, Damien Thorn remained an American citizen. They didn’t throw his body to dogs – he was transported to the USA and buried in the Thorn family vault. They were lucky to do it immediately. Perhaps, it would become impossible a few days later. 

All newspapers which had glorified the American ambassador very recently for his charity and attention to youth affairs were writing terrible articles now. Reporters were vying in interviewing the murderer, Kate Reynolds. Everyone wanted to know how she had killed the Antichrist, how she had been protecting her son. Those interviews were so touching Peter was seriously worried that she would be acquitted. Fortunately, justice was done and Kate went to prison. She immediately became popular among Christians; she was a martyr who had saved the world from destruction and ended up in jail – how unfair it was! 

However, not everyone gave in to this hysteria. There were enough sensible people who hadn’t believed newspapers or maybe they had, but decided that to be or not to be the Antichrist was a private matter. A couple of newspapers even published articles which said that freedom of religion existed specifically in order to allow everyone to choose a religion to their taste. 

That was when the accursed DeCarlo struck the final blow. He told journalists everything he’d managed to find out about the infant deaths all over the world. Tabloids were full of pictures – burnt faces, cut bodies sprawled in pools of blood, swollen of poison, with staring eyes, run over by cars, strangled by nurses. All this was committed by a single man. 

Now the whole world hated the late Damien Thorn. 

Then a lawyer visited Peter and informed him that Damien Thorn’s property was bequeathed to him, Peter. Peter’s heart soared with hope again. What if Damien was going to return? If he thought he’d die for good he wouldn’t think about the corporation. He’d left it for Peter so that he could return later and take it back like that man with talents from the Bible had done. But by the time Peter took the property over Thorn Industries had gone bankrupt long ago: the share prices had dropped to nothing, all employees had quitted. Peter got a mere twenty million – a huge sum for Peter himself, but he was going to give it to Damien when the man came back. 

So if he still hadn’t come back it was because of the newborn infant of course. If the baby was killed Damien would be resurrected. That was how Peter had got a new purpose in life – he had to finish the hunt for the abhorrent Nazarene. Though it was foolish to call him like that now. He was probably a Parisian, a New Yorker or a Veronese. But Peter couldn’t call him by name. He hated this name. Finally, he started to call an infant just ‘_it_’. 

At first, he thought it would be easy, all worshippers of the Antichrist would be happy to help him get revenge. He hadn’t imagined that the phrase about the murdered shepherd and scattered sheep would come true so accurately. These people had served Damien, loved him, killed in his name, but after he’d died they wanted nothing to do with him. The infant’s fame was growing and they all were choosing _its_ side. 

Five years later Peter realized he was the only one left and while he was known as the last faithful disciple of the Antichrist he’d never be able to get close to _it_. He gave an interview and renounced Damien. He said he was repentant. He’d been a child, he’d been only thirteen, he’d been confused. He’d been wandering in the darkness, but now he saw the light. And all that jazz. They didn’t believe him. No wonder, he wouldn’t believe himself, either. 

On the night of the renouncing he had a dream about Damien. In this dream the Antichrist returned to the Earth in his glory and burnt all his enemies and former admirers. Peter stood on his left side and watched them writhing in fire, burning to the bones, but still failing to die. They cried and begged for death, the skin on their faces cracking from the heat, and Peter watched their suffering and smiled. 

“You were the only one faithful to me, Peter,” Damien said later. “You killed the Nazarene and you will get the finest reward.” 

Peter knelt down. Damien undid his trousers and grabbed him by his hair. Peter took Damien’s cock into his mouth, and Damien started thrusting into his throat with such ferocity that if it weren’t a dream Peter would suffocate. Peter swallowed his seed and was woken by his own climax. He spent the rest of the night crying into his pillow. For the first time in years, he was able to cry. 

He didn’t know if it had been just a dream or Damien had really visited him. He started to have these dreams again and again. Sometimes Damien fucked him from behind, always with no preparation; sometimes Damien fucked Peter’s mouth, rough and violently, and every time Peter woke up alone and in tears. 

He remembered that his mother had been given this precious gift – for real, not in her dream she had managed to merge her flesh with the Antichrist’s one and repaid him by betrayal instead of love and obedience. How could she? It was beyond the reach of his understanding. 

When _it_ was six _it_ performed _its_ first miracle. _It_ came to a children’s hospital with _its_ mother – or _its_ nurse who knew – and healed all children _it_ met. Peter flew to Rome immediately. Of course, he found no one there. 

_It_ kept appearing once or twice a year, here and there, and performing some miracles after which they would hide _it_ again. Sometimes _it_ even was on TV. One time, watching the news about healings in a hospice, Peter saw Kate next to _it_. Apparently, she had been released from prison and run to serve _it_ at once. There were plenty of pictures in newspapers: when _it_ saved terminally ill patients or extinguished a fire with a wave of _its_ hand _it_ always had enough fans with cameras around. 

Peter thought that now when he knew for sure what _it_ looked like _it_ would be easier to find. He was wrong again. 

When _it_ was twenty Peter was thirty-three. For the last fifteen years he’d been leading a bloody righteous life. He’d been doing charity, going to church and confessing. The Pharisee from the parable would die of envy. He gave all his money to the poor and took the monastic vows. His past was forgotten. He was known as a sad young man who had almost accepted the enemy of mankind very long ago but repented and now was trying to get redemption. 

All this was for a reason. Finally, they started to trust him. Father DeCarlo died – good riddance. _Its_ new followers revealed the most important secret to Peter. The day when _it_ was going to be in Chicago. Peter was given a precious piece of paper with the address. Of course, he was forbidden to show it to anyone. Someone could want to go there and kill the Saviour. Peter swore readily not to show it to anyone even under threat of torture. 

He took a dagger – an ordinary one, not of Meggido. At the appointed time he entered the house, got off the elevator and stopped. A monk walked past him. 

“Where is apartment 357?” Peter asked. 

The monk smiled, realizing where Peter was going, pointed to the right and added, “There he is.” 

Peter knocked on the door and Kate was the one to open it. She gasped and shut the door in his face. But then he heard a voice from somewhere in the apartment. 

“Kate, didn’t you hear me say, knock and the door will be opened to you? So let in the one who knocked on my door.” 

Kate obeyed. Peter got past her without a word. There, at the back of the apartment, stood the man who was painful to look at. Beautiful and pure, he extended his hand to Peter. 

“You think you are here to kill me, Peter Reynolds,” he said. “But that is not really what you want. Give me your dagger and tell me why your soul hurts so much.” 

Peter took a shaky breath, threw his dagger on the floor and asked more meekly than ever in his whole life, “Bring him back to life.” 

“You came to kill me, Peter,” _it_ said. “On the night of his death the Antichrist came to kill me, too. You want me to forgive you both while you cannot forgive your mother.” 

Peter realized that it was a deal. A darn good deal. He turned to Kate. 

“You meant well,” he forced. “You wanted to save my soul. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I’m sorry, mum.” 

Kate threw herself at him and burst into tears. 

“Now will you bring him to life?” Peter asked. 

“God, no!” Kate cried. “The person on whose behalf my son is pleading is your enemy!” 

“Didn’t I say, love your enemy?” _it_ said gently. “Everyone should be granted a chance, shouldn’t they?” 

Kate covered her mouth with her hand quickly – apparently, to avoid saying anything carelessly – and Peter suddenly realized all this was for real. Damien would live. _It_ would bring him to life. 

“I am going to receive the new Apostle’s confession,” it said, “and give him communion. Kate, leave us so that you did not hear his secrets.” 

Kate got out of the room and closed the door tight. 

Peter sat on the table. 

“You two are sick fucks!” he said, pouring himself some wine from the decanter. “Two bastards, two…” He swept his hand through the air, trying to find the words. 

“Beasts,” _it_ suggested helpfully. 

Finally Peter could call him Christ in his head. Because now he knew for sure that the man wasn’t Christ. 

“A Beast rising up out of the sea and a second Beast coming out of the earth,” Peter said. He didn’t understand how he could forget this verse. 

“When did you know it?” _it_… Christ… false Christ… the Antichrist asked. 

_The Antichrist_. 

“Just a few minutes ago,” Peter admitted. “When I asked the way. The monk said, ‘there he is’ and I remembered, if anyone says to you, ‘There he is!’…” 

Peter helped himself to more wine and drank it. He started shaking. 

“I am not surprised. Even your mother has not figured it out yet.” 

“She’s not my mother,” Peter objected reflexively. 

“But what surprises me,” the Antichrist continued, “is how my brother could believe in the birth of Christ. It looks like he did not read the Bible carefully enough. Or he would remember that the Second Coming is not the Second Birth.” 

“But you will bring him back to life, won’t you?” Peter reminded. 

“Yes, of course. I need someone to fight me in the Final Battle. I will win and then everyone will bow to me. Let us go to the cemetery, Peter. If my brother wakes up alone in the vault with no one to meet him there he will be extremely upset.”


End file.
